


Dea Volente

by HighAsHope



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Post-Time Skip, Romance, Straight Up Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 14:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighAsHope/pseuds/HighAsHope
Summary: Again, and again, their hands would find one another's.Goddess willing, he would learn to make his more gentle.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 22
Kudos: 81





	Dea Volente

**Author's Note:**

> "I love your hands, more than anything. I see them often when you're away from me - so tired; I know every line of them."  
> -F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

He feels useless, like this. 

He is nothing but a looming, dark presence by her side, waiting for someone with gentler hands to provide aid that he cannot.

“...Dimitri?”

He snaps out of his reverie, only realizing that his attention had been trained on the blood dripping down her arm when he moves to examine her features. Her expression, by all means, is blank.

But there is a slight, nearly imperceptible grimace that flashes across her face, only noticed by him because he has spent far too long watching her on the battlefield. He unfurls the tightened fists that his hands have become by his sides at the sight, the appendages aching from the white knuckle grip they once held.

There is nothing but the subdued chaos that only the aftermath of a battle can bring outside of their small bubble under this tree. Uninjured soldiers are checking supplies and setting up camp, his allies, his friends, are giving orders and assisting accordingly. Mercedes and Annette are flitting about as quickly as they can to provide necessary healing, and the woman by his side, upon her request, will be the last to be tended to.

Dimitri hesitates, gloved hand hovering in the space between them in such an ungainly fashion that he almost feels embarrassed. He sucks in a breath, closes and opens his eye-

“Professor, I… let me help you.”

His mind tries to attribute the softness of his voice to the aftermath of shouting in battle, that it’s from natural exhaustion and it isn’t just the way he speaks to her now. 

What a fool he is.

Byleth consents with a nod, and though there is a small part of him that feels he will make it worse, he maneuvers to replace her hand with his. He presses the cloth to the wound on her upper arm, using more concentration than he does for most things.

For a moment, neither of them speak, but there is a question that falls from his lips before he can bother to stop himself.

“...Why did you take that hit for me?”

Dimitri makes the effort to look her in the eyes when he asks this. His curiosity burns and festers, carries him away from the fact that he should just be thankful and keep quiet, because he just wants to _know_.

He wants to know why she keeps thinking he’s worth it.

“You would have died and I...”

Her mouth opens and closes, her voice so strangely level and even compared to her crestfallen expression, but he notices that she can’t finish her speech. She seems… hurt, like she’s pictured a spear going through his chest a thousand times.

It’s not as though he hasn’t had something similar slither into his dreams, hasn’t had the horrific image of holding her limp body in his arms conjured into his mind. She reaches up to grab his wrist, gives it a gentle squeeze, and in the following silence he wonders if they are both thinking the same thing:

How many of the scars that now littered both of their bodies were meant for the other?

“Professor!”

Mercedes' incoming presence knocks them both from their thoughts and they turn to see her still managing a smile through her clear exhaustion. With her hands clasped before her, she looks to Dimitri, expression gentle and understanding when she speaks.

“Why don’t you go rest, Your Highness? I promise I’ll take care of her.”

He nods, trusting her fully, and lets her take Byleth from his hold. Still, he can’t bring himself to leave until she has finished guiding the Professor down to a patch of grass and started the healing process. For a moment, Dimitri watches in interest at the way Mercedes’ hands move to produce such a reposeful light.

When he finally does turn to walk away, all the while absentmindedly flexing the appendages at his sides, he wonders, truly wonders-

Could hands such as his do that?

* * *

Walking into the chapel now makes him feel uneasy, the sound of his footsteps so loud that he swears they can be heard over the chatter and choir practice that carries to the high ceiling. He feels various sets of eyes bore into his back, and his steps briefly falter as he looks at the rubble and remembers-

_‘Get away from me!’_

He had raised his voice at her. At _her_. 

There is no apology significant enough that could make up for that, he thinks, and he straightens his spine and absorbs the judgement he is receiving like it’s some sort of welcomed punishment. He finds the person he is looking for fairly quickly, but he knows that the whispers and scrutiny behind his trail will not stop, not yet- not until he can prove himself worthy of more.

Dimitri is fine with that.

“Oh, Your Highness, how are you faring today?”

Mercedes’ smile is bright, and his shoulders naturally ease at the sight of his familiar companion. 

“I’m well. I wanted to thank you… for helping the Professor the other day. It seems that medical care is not my strong suit.”

She tilts her head, a look he can only describe as knowing taking over her features, and gestures towards his form. “Of course. though I’m sure your presence did more than you know.”

He shifts, a little uncomfortable with himself, but perseveres.

“Mercedes, I must ask you a favor. Would you… be willing to instruct me in healing spells?”

Her expression shifts to one of barely controlled surprise, and he thinks about how foolish he must seem. He can’t even hold things without them shattering in his grasp, how the hell could a man like him even _dare_ to think that-

The sound of Mercedes’ hands excitedly clasping together snapped him out of his reverie.

“Of course! Why don’t we find Annie and start over some tea? We can even use our old classroom!”

After a moment of shock, Dimitiri nods, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Byleth doesn’t feel pain until after the final enemy on the field has fallen, until the adrenaline rushing through her veins twists and turns into waves of exhaustion instead.

It’s always been like that.

She is tired but she is not broken, and the gash on her side is minuscule compared to the other concerns running through her mind.

It is automated for her to run a checklist, one that forces her to look for familiar figures and shocks of hair during the aftermath, counting, counting… a grim, updated form of what once was a simple attendance list. A spot of red hair to her far left and a breath she barely realized she was holding escapes her- it had taken her a little too long to locate Sylvain in the crowd, at least for her liking. 

Byleth didn’t truly register the fact that Dimitri was standing before her, relaying a report she should, as a leader and comrade, be listening to. 

But she feels...strange. He sounds muffled, far off, like he so often does in her newly rearing dreams.

How badly had that lance tore into her flesh?

Hesitantly, she reaches down to stem the flow of blood from her side, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. She doesn’t fully open them again until _his_ hand, familiar now, falls to her shoulder, and her name falls from his lips.

Her _name_.

“ _Byleth._ ”

She snaps to attention, eyes widening at the barely controlled panic in his tone and features. “...I’m sorry.”

Dimitri looks like he briefly wants to scold her, and she remembers what he had told her just a few days ago-

_Please never feel the need to apologize to me._

“You’re hurt.”

She winces a little, not from the pain, but from his _voice_. He almost sounds frightened. 

Byleth doesn’t really register what’s happening until he’s guiding her to rest against the brick wall of a nearby building, his hands a steadying force in keeping her standing. He’s not making eye contact, a feat of sorts when he hovers over her so easily, and when he speaks again it’s almost a whisper.

“Let me help you.”

She watches intently as he takes his gloves off and tosses them to the side, and she barely notices that she has subconsciously reached out to grasp his cloak with one hand. It is warm and soft under her fingertips, and she is reminded of the many times it has shielded her from the rain. 

Dimitri hesitates, hands shaking when they come to hover over her side, and he pauses, briefly, to glance at her for consent. She nods, and he rolls the fabric of it up just enough to reveal her wound.

Byleth expects him to press some cloth he has procured to the gash until a healer can be retrieved, but the look of utter concentration that has befallen the man’s features has her mind absolutely addled. Both of his palms are hovering over her side, and before she can even question him, a familiar warm light emanates from them to effectively dissipate the cut, and the pain that came along with it.

“Better?”

He pulls his hands away, a nervous smile touching his lips, and she cannot help it when a warmth settles in her chest and her own smile graces her features. She wants to ask where he learned that, why he did, even properly thank him, but the only thing she can think to do is reach out to grasp his bare hands in her own.

She attributes the action to blood loss, and can almost hear the sound of Sothis’ past laughs pressing at the back of her mind at the thought.

Much like hers, Dimitri’s hands are calloused and scarred, but she runs her thumbs across the skin and she feels privileged when he doesn’t pull away. Byleth recalls the night in the rain, and she can only hope that her expression and tone represents the sudden tenderness that has taken over her very being-

“Have your hands always been this gentle?”

The man before her, so fierce and larger than life, crumbles at the question. A blush she hasn’t seen since before the war dusts his cheeks, and she is glad that his hair is tied back enough for her to see it.

Shaking his head slightly, he gives her hands a soft squeeze, and presents her with a shy smile.

“No, no...but they are learning.”


End file.
